


Non-Regulation Use of a Gurney

by MalcolmInSpace



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 20:53:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11676879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalcolmInSpace/pseuds/MalcolmInSpace
Summary: With the crew away and Zaeed cooped up in the med bay with Chakwas, it's only a matter of time before one of them breaks out a bottle.





	Non-Regulation Use of a Gurney

**Author's Note:**

  * For [commanderlurker (honeybee592)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybee592/gifts).



Doctor Karin Chakwas sighs, sets down her datapad and her stylus, and walks over to where Zaeed Masani is lying on the medbay floor, swearing. “Mr. Masani, why are you trying to walk two hours after I have reattached your leg?”

“Because I’ve got better goddamn things to do than spend all day in a goddamn hospital bed.” He tries to pull himself back to his feet, and promptly falls again, knocking over a tray of implements. “Goddamnit!”

Chakwas sighs again, rolls her eyes, and leans down to take his hand.  “Come on, back to bed. You’re not even supposed to be conscious for another hour.” With some difficulty, and a great deal of swearing, she manages to get him first standing, and then back into a bed. “Don’t push yourself so quickly. You had your leg torn off.”

“That’s a goddamn exaggeration.”

“It’s really not. Your lower leg was hanging by half a quadricep and four tendons. I counted them.” She pulls the hem of his hospital gown back. “In fact, the only reason you’re still alive is because one of your squadmates thought to check on you immediately. And because you appear to be made of scar tissue and old leather.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing. Ahh, what are you doing down there?”

“Checking your sutures, Mr. Masani. No need to get excited.”

“You’ve got me on so many goddamn meds I’m not fucking sure I could get excited even if you were a doctor and a goddamn attractive women of a certain age able to hold her goddamn liquor.”

Chakwas stops, mid-exam and slowly looks up at Zaeed, a slightly puzzled expression on her face.  “Mr. Masani, are you  _flirting_  with me right now?”

“I hope so, yeah. I’d say it’s the meds again, but the truth is I’m shit at it. We should get a drink sometime, once I can, y’know, stand up.”

“Is that a euphemism?”

“Yeah, probably.”

Chakwas rolls her eyes, finishes the exam, and tugs his hospital gown back down. “You somehow managed not to burst any of your sutures, but I’m going to apply another layer of medigel, just to be sure.” She rises, and begins collecting the scattered implements from the floor. “You appear to be healing well, and the bone knitting took right away so I don’t think I’ll need to do any more surgery – provided you do as you’re told and  _stay off the leg_.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Zaeed mumbles, the pain and painkillers already drawing him back down.

Chakwas smiles faintly, pats his cheek, and says, “Get some rest, you old fool.”

The comm buzzes a few hours later, startling Chakwas. It’s dark in the medbay, aside from the soft glow of data readouts and medical monitors. She realizes she’s been sitting in one position so long, reading, that the motion detectors turned the main lights off. She leans back, stretches out the stiffness in her back. The lights come back on, gently enough not to be unpleasant.

The comm buzzes again, and this time is followed by Joker’s voice. “Hey, doc, you there?”

She reaches out and presses the button. “I’m here, Joker. Everything alright?”

“Yeah, peachy. We’re just coming into dock on Ilium, and the Commander’s giving the crew shore leave for the night. Will you be joining us?”

The offer is tempting. Ilium, for all its perils, is a wonder. And some time in the fresh air would be welcome, but… she glances back at her patient. “I appreciate the offer, but I should probably stay here and watch over Sleeping Beauty.”

“I’m not sure ‘Beauty’ is the word I’d use. Maybe, ‘Sleeping Scar Tissue’?  But hey, you do you, Doc. I’m gonna go dancing.”

“I’m sure Grunt will be thrilled to carry you back afterwards. Tell Miranda I’ll send her a list of supplies I’m low on.”

“Alright, Doc. You have fun with paperwork and Murder Grandpa.”

“ _Goodbye_ , Jeff.” She shuts off the comm before he can quip again.  She yawns, stretches again, debates going back to her reading.

“You should,” Zaeed says softly, making her jump. She turns to see him, half-sitting up, propped up on his elbows.  His gaze is clearer, steadier now, less fogged by pain and narcotics. “You should go, have some fun with the young ones. Better than spending another goddamn day trapped on this ship.”

Chakwas chuckles softly. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I did take an oath.”

“What, to spend your days nursing a relic like me?”

“To care for my patients.”

“Good,” he says, levering himself up to full sitting. “Then d’you think your oath could cover helping me to head so I can take a goddamn piss before I goddamn explode?”

Her laugh, this time, is full and throaty, and he laughs along.

It’s dark, and quiet.  Almost the entire crew is off the ship and EDI has powered the lights down to night cycle. Whether to conserve power or because she feels it’s right, Chakwas doesn’t know. The hum of the engines can still be felt through the deck, like the breathing of a great sleeping beast. The mess is empty save for Samara, who gives Chakwas a slow nod before returning to her tea and book. Apparently the justicar doesn’t feel like visiting Ilium this time. Don’t have to punish crimes you don’t witness, Chakwas muses.

The mess was empty and the crew away, but the fridge was still decently stocked.  Chakwas loads up with leftovers, tubs of potato salad and cold chicken and corn. Things that taste just as good cold.

“Having a midnight feast, doctor? You must be hungry,” Samara says lightly, and Chakwas turns to see the large eyes watching her, shining in the low light.

Chakwas has never felt entirely comfortable around Samara, but since she and the Commander went to Omega the feeling has grown stronger, more prickly. There is a mocking undertone to the asari’s comments at times, and Chakwas has seen her watching the Commander with a strange hunger when she thinks no one is watching. Now, alone in the half-light with those great luminous eyes on her, Chakwas feels a cold tingle creep down her spine. “Ah, no, Justicar,” she fumbles, arms loaded. She swings the fridge door closed with her foot and begins edging towards the corridor again. Medbay is so close at hand. “Mr. Masani is recovering well, but it’s best he stay off that leg a while longer.”

“Ah, of course. A midnight picnic, then.”

“Indeed.” She’s almost out of the mess hall now. “Good night, Justicar.”

“Good night, Doctor.”

Chakwas turns and walks away, forcing herself to keep a steady pace. She can feel the asari’s eyes on her the whole time.

The walk back to medbay is only a few metres, and yet it feels so much further. Chakwas lets out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding as the doors whoosh shut behind her. “Mr. Masani,” she says, clearing her throat, “if you’re awake I brought... where did you get  _that_?”

Zaeed, still clad in hospital gown, has cleared off an exam table, pulled two chairs to it, and placed two glasses and dark-glass bottle on top. He lounges on the far side, watching her with an amused half-smile. “I found it, so I figure we could have a drink or two since you’re so bent on keeping me in here for some goddamn reason.”

“That’s not the Serrice, is it?”

Zaeed blinks, sits a few centimetres more upright. “You’ve got the good stuff in here somewhere? I should have searched a little goddamn harder, then.”

“No.” It comes out as a snap, and Chakwas can see the surprise in his face. She sighs. “Sorry, it’s just… that’s for a special occasion. A specific special occasion.”

“Ah, right, fair enough.” He shrugs it off, accepting that it’s not something she wants to share. He leans forward, pulling the top off the bottle with a crinkling sound of tearing foil. The sharp, sweet smell of dark rum fills Chakwas’s nostrils and she feels a tension leave her shoulders. She crosses the room, begins opening food containers.

They don’t bother with plates or ice, just eating directly from the tubs and drinking straight rum and talking. “…so they stagger back into the ship, stinking of beer and covered in blood,” Chakwas is saying, telling a story from the hunt for Saren and illustrating with increasingly florid hand motions, “and Garrus says, ‘If that’s what you call shore leave, your vacations must be hell!’ And then he just passes out, right there on the deck!” They laugh together, the food and liquor warming them. “They needed seventy-eight stiches between the three of them, and I swear Wrex complained the most.”

They both reach for the mostly-empty bottle and find their hands brushing together, entwining. Zaeed’s hands are warm and rough on hers, and she can see the heat in his eyes and feel it rising in her belly. She makes a decision.

She gets up and walks to the door, doing, in her opinion, an admirable job of maintaining grace.

She locks the door.

She walks back.

She leans down and kisses him, their lips pressing together awkwardly at first, then hotly, the sharp fumes of rum curling into their noses.

The Normandy is outbound from Ilium, crew retuned and ready to face another step in the hunt for the Collectors. Miranda is going over the ship’s expenses, having chewed at least two styluses down to ruin in the process. “Ah, Doctor!” she calls, seeing Chakwas walk by. She is far too buried in the numbers to notice the slow, ginger way the doctor is moving – like any sudden movement will knock her over. “Doctor,” Miranda says without looking up as Chakwas approaches, “what is this requisition expense?  Why do we need parts and repair for a ‘Sirta MedTech Exam and Recovery Cart model 215b’?”

Chakwas doesn’t respond for a long moment, long enough that Miranda looks up. For as long as she’s known Chakwas, the doctor has been poised, professional, and quietly competent. Today, Miranda sees a woman with bloodshot, half-lidded eyes, delicate movement, and a faint smile. “Just…” Chakwas trails off and thinks, sipping from a mug of coffee so strong Miranda can smell it from two metres away. “Just put it down as ‘damage due to nonregulation use of a gurney’ and never ask me again.” Then she winks broadly at Miranda and walks away, a little swing in her step.


End file.
